


Instruments

by Allain_Kelyarus



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Cello, Character Study-ish, Family Bonding, Gen, Guitar, Music, Piano, Saxaphone, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allain_Kelyarus/pseuds/Allain_Kelyarus
Summary: One way or another they all pick up an instrument.





	Instruments

**Bruce**

He started learning the piano when he was two. His mother loved the sound of the piano and would play often. Whenever she would sit down to play you’d be guaranteed to hear the pitter patter of little feet running along the halls to find her. She’d always let him sit in her lap while she played. To Bruce’s young mind it amazed him that his mother could create such beautiful sounds from something so large and bulky. His hands and fingers were too small to replicate all of her movements on the grand piano, but he still wanted to try. He wanted to learn to make the beautiful sounds his mother made.

She taught him. She taught him what keys to press. What sounds go together. When he was old enough she taught him to read music. His father asked about getting a tutor for Bruce since he seemed so enamored with the instrument, but he told him he didn’t want one. He wanted to learn from his mother not some stranger. It wasn’t just about liking the piano. It was about learning to do something that his mother loved. About the look of pride and joy as he progressed. About the warm hugs and honeyed words of encouragement when he messed something up and thought she’d be upset with him. Bruce loved learning the piano yes, but he loved his mother more.

After his mother and father died he didn’t want to play the piano anymore. He didn’t want to remember the way his mother’s gentle hands guided his along the keys. Or how he used to sit for hours with her listening to her play. He didn’t want to remember any of the things he could no longer have.

But something happened. Something stirred within him as his teenage years progressed. The piano that long sat neglected called to him. He’d find himself late at night standing in the doorway staring. Just staring. Not entering the room. Not yet. But just dragging his eyes along the outline of the piano visible through the white sheet covering the instrument. Deep down Bruce knew what drew him there night after night. He knew why he had such a longing to play.

Bruce was forgetting. As more and more time passed his memories of before his parents died began to blur. A natural occurrence for everyone but Bruce didn’t want to forget. He wanted to remember everything and deep down he knew playing would help jog his memory. He knew it would be something to latch on to. Something tangible to strengthen his grasp on the intangible. But it would also hurt. It would hurt to remember his mother wouldn’t be sitting right there beside him as he played. That there would be no comforting hand on his back if he missed a few keys and became frustrated. No gentle hands gliding across the keys as if they were dancing. No sweet words of praise and promises to teach him something new when they played again.

No, Bruce would have to do without those things.

So, he learned. He learned to come to terms with the pain, with the absence. He began to play again. Alfred always kept the instrument tuned “Just in case” he would say when Bruce would ask why he bothered with the thing. Perhaps he knew this would happen. That Bruce would be drawn back to the instrument or maybe he simply hoped he would. Maybe he simply hoped he’d see Bruce play again. That it would make him smile.

Bruce loved the piano when he was two. Bruce despised the piano when he was seven. Bruce treasured the piano when he was sixteen. Today Bruce appreciates the things this instrument has brought into his life.

 

**Dick**

All of Dick’s earliest memories contain music. He’s pretty sure he was probably born listening to music. His father and mother always had something playing in their trailer. Whether it was live music or the old beat up radio that somehow still worked despite the bent antenna and the missing pieces. The thing barely held together but it was well-loved. He remembers learning to dance from his mother. She would take him up in her arms and swing with him around their small space or if they were stopped somewhere she’d play the music loud enough that they’d dance outside with some of the other performers in the circus. His laughter could often be heard as he did his best to dance with everyone else. Moving his little arms and legs to the music in an adorable but failed attempt to replicate the movements of everyone else.

More often than not his father would pick up a guitar and start playing when they had the free time. It was always something new. Something made up on the spot to match the mood. Sometimes Dick would just sit and listen to his father play. They’d both make up lyrics together and try to see who could get his mother to laugh with the funniest phrases. It wasn’t long until his father’s strong arms were scooping him up and sitting him down in his lap and he was learning how to strum the instrument just as his father did.

He was terrible at it though and his father would always tell him not to worry about it. That he just needed to wait until his little hands were bigger and could strum the strings properly. That didn’t stop Dick from trying. He wanted to learn. He wanted to be able to make music that other people could dance to just like his father did.

Unfortunately, disaster struck and listening to music let alone playing the guitar became too painful. It reminded him of what he lost and how his father wasn’t there to teach him when he was old enough to play the instrument properly. He didn’t want to learn from anyone else. As far as he was concerned the guitar was his father’s instrument and always would be.

But the passion for music isn’t something that’s stomped out so easily. No, the seeds were planted before he was even born and soon he found himself listening to music again. Before in the circus he’d only ever heard folk music and the music played for performances. Living with Bruce he learned there was more. He learned about different genres and musicians, how music has changed and grown over the years, the different kinds of music native to different parts of the world. He found he loved it all. He loved listening to music and again he found the desire to make his own.

He’s not sure why he picked it. Maybe because he watched too many videos of jazz clubs. Maybe because the music reminded him of home despite the difference in instruments. But he soon found himself picking up the saxophone. Those first few months were brutal on Bruce’s and Alfred’s ears. But Dick never gave up and soon the sounds they heard drifting from his bedroom and filling the rest of the manor were deep and smooth where before they’d only been grating on their ears.

Then the music turned more upbeat. Into something that one would find themselves subconsciously tapping their feet to as they went about their day. Then familiar old tunes were learned. Songs written long before Dick’s time but were definitely masterpieces in their own right. And finally, the music that could be heard from Dick’s room seemed to be as spontaneous and wild as the one playing it. More often than not Dick would make up his own songs. Start playing and see where the music leads him.

Dick fell in love with that saxophone and even though it wasn’t the instrument that had started it all it became the source of his passion for music. In his eyes the guitar would always be his father’s. Maybe if there is an afterlife when he final does kick the bucket he’ll have his father finish the lessons he started as a child. But for now, he’d make his own music with his own instrument.

 

**Jason**

It wasn’t until Jason had begun living with Bruce that he gained any kind of real appreciation for music. Because he was living with Bruce he began attending Gotham Academy and of course every kid there had some kind of talent. Whether it was something they actually enjoyed or something their parents forced onto them depended on the kid, but the fact still remained: Everyone could do something deemed “socially impressive”. Everyone except Jason. Sure, Jason had skills but none of them were appropriate for high society. Jason had learned the skills necessary to survive on your own living on the streets of Gotham. But none of the rich snobs were going to appreciate knowing how to hot wire a car or pick locks. In fact, they’d probably just use it as more fuel to ostracize him. Whatever, Jason didn’t care about them.

But what Jason found he did care about was learning. Say what you want about rich people they can still afford the best of the best when it comes to schools. He soaked up knowledge like a sponge and with the proper tutoring (after Jason started taking the whole thing seriously) Jason was scoring up there with the rest of the kids with a high IQ on every test.

However, there was one minor hiccup. The fancy school wanted him to pick up a fancy talent. An extracurricular activity they called it. Problem was Jason turned down all the suggestions thrown his way. The school could overlook this fact for one semester since he’d arrived in the middle of the school year and his father was none other than Bruce Wayne. The man who wrote fat checks for the school year after year. But the rules were rules. If he was going to attend and pass he needed an extracurricular in his schedule.

That’s where Alfred came in and saved the day. Although he had to be subtle about it. Make Jason believe it was all his own idea or he’d simply scoff at the suggestion. Years later Jason realized it was really Alfred’s idea that he pick up the guitar. Something not too “proper” but still within the acceptable standards of the school. There weren’t many other high society kids who played the guitar. It was mostly more “sophisticated” instruments like the piano, violin, or clarinet. Something to go along with their opulent parties.

He was horrible with the thing at first. He didn’t have an ear for music and his steady hands became clumsy with the unfamiliar task. He considered giving up the instrument altogether several times. After all it was an unnecessary skill in his eyes. All the things he thought were important he was learning in his training with Bruce. But whenever he was close to throwing in the towel someone always seemed to have an off-hand comment ready. Whether it was Bruce mentioning a study on the correlations of learning an instrument and increased intelligence, Or Dick flaunting his own talent with the saxophone and retelling all the praise he’d get when he performed, or even Alfred mentioning that all the other kids are going to be sorry about the things they say when Jason finally gets the hang of playing the guitar.

So, Jason stuck with it. He patched up his fingers as they bled from needing to develop callouses in places his training didn’t already build. He let himself throw a fit now and again over not being able to play something right and pick the guitar right back up when he was done. He listened to more music and found the sound he wanted to be able to recreate. Found what interested him and used that as fuel for learning the guitar. He got better. He wasn’t the best. Not a prodigy like most he went to school with. Just a kid who played an instrument they liked on a regular basis. That was all he needed.

In the years after his return he found himself reaching for the familiar instrument. For something he remembered that was still the same. He latched onto the instrument as a crutch and spent many hours late into the night playing. Just like old times. It helped him remember. Not everything but enough.

 

**Tim**

When Tim was four years old his parents told him, he would start learning to play the violin. He frowned and asked why. His parents didn’t seem to like that, so he never asked why again. He was given a small violin and four times a week an old Russian man with a thick accent would come to his house and teach him how to play.

Tim’s strengths never lay with the musical arts but just like with so many other things Tim learned to play the violin regardless of whether or not he had the talent for it or even wanted to. His teacher was spartan and he was sure on some occasions he would have resorted to hitting him to get his point across. He couldn’t do that though. The guy would be out of a job. Any physical signs of abuse on their child would reflect badly on the Drakes so there was no way they would stand for that. Instead the old Russian man took to yelling. Any and every insult he could form in English and some words in Russian Tim would look up later alone in his room.

It was plain as day to the servants Tim hated learning the violin, but his parents turned a blind eye. They just wanted to have something to parade around in front of their friends and business partners. That much was clear. Neither of them asked how his lessons were going or about what he was learning. That was ok. Tim was used to it. His parents didn’t care.

Still Tim hoped that maybe if he practiced really hard and he was good enough his parents would finally pay attention. Maybe they’d finally care. So even though he didn’t want to he found himself practicing for hours on end everyday whether or not his teacher was there that day. He learned all the classics. Learned all the songs people usually enjoyed. Then he moved on to difficult songs. Songs that would garner attention if a kid was able to play them well. He practiced and practiced and practiced. He took every insult from his teacher. He did this thing he hated everyday because his parents wanted him to and slowly it ate away at him. It ate away at his identity, at his self-image. Yes, he got better but everyone said the same thing when they listened to him play. No matter the song or how well he played it always felt cold. The music was empty because Tim was also empty. He would play a difficult piece with zero mistakes and people would tell him it was missing something. That they couldn’t quite tell what, but he should keep practicing.

Keep practicing.

Keep practicing.

Keep practicing… for what?

For parents that never loved him? For parties he hated going to? For something he hated since he started?

No.

Tim stopped playing the violin. Focused on what he liked. Computers and photography. His parents were disappointed in him but what’s one more thing on top of all the others? No, if Tim was going to live this life they gave him he would at least enjoy it.

He left his violin when he finally moved out. Didn’t even give it a second look.

It was years before he ever thought about the instrument again. He’d long since found his place as Red Robin. Carved out something for himself that no one else would be able to take from him. Oddly enough it was at a party similar to the ones he hated as a kid that he found himself picking up the instrument again. Bruce needed a distraction. Something that would draw eyes away from him without him having to make too many excuses.

He’s not sure why he thought of it. But before he knew it he was borrowing a violin and playing something dramatic. Something that caught everyone’s attention. Something he thought fit his life perfectly. A piece he’d found years ago that he felt sounded like him. It was sad but also fast paced. It rose and fell with a roller-coaster of emotions. This time things were different. He felt the music in a way that had never happened when he was younger. He played and this time when he was done everyone clapped and no one said he was missing something. No one said it was cold and empty.

That day he saw the true brilliance of the violin. He thought now was as good a time as any to start over with this instrument. To make it not something he hated. Not a harbinger of bad memories and false hope from the past. No, this time he’d play the violin because he wanted to whenever he wanted to. Not for anyone else but for himself.

**Damian**

Assassin training doesn’t call for much other than learning how to kill with anything and everything. Other skills that can be useful were practical like languages. Sometimes you’d need to know a different language to get the job done. You’d also need an intelligent mind. A mind built for strategy and that can quickly adapt to any situation. All the skills Damian learned were practical. Necessary skills for an assassin. Everything else was deemed unnecessary and a waste of time.

This kind of thinking shaped most of his childhood. What would make him better? Faster? Stronger? Smarter? While other kids were playing with toys and learning to ride bikes. He was practicing with throwing knives and learning all the pressure points on the human body. Other kids were making friends and playing on playgrounds. He was learning to take apart and put together guns and practicing his hand to hand day and night. Other kids were out being kids and he was honing his body and mind into a killing machine.

Damian wasn’t like other kids. He was given a purpose and failure was not an option. He needed to be ready when his time came. The things other kids did weren’t for him. He was supposed to grow up before those his age. He was supposed to become the perfect tool.

Too bad that all flew out the window when he arrived at Wayne manor. When he met his father and most importantly when he met Dick. Dick saw underneath all the elite training and past the cold demeanor. He saw the hurt and neglected child underneath it all. It was part of the reason he took Robin from Tim and gave the moniker to Damian. He saw what Damian was and knew he would need something to direct all that hate and anger towards.

Soon Bruce was back, and things were… well things were never normal, but everyone was forming small tentative bonds. Damian’s upbringing made things difficult though. He’d missed most of his childhood and because of his conditioning saw nothing wrong with that fact. He saw most of the things kids his age were into as childish or unnecessary.

It was Alfred who got Damian to consider learning to play an instrument. He knew it would be good for Damian. Give him something to focus on that wasn’t centered around violence. Something that would help soften him up around the edges just a little. It also gave Bruce and Damian something to talk about that didn’t have to do with their night life. Something they could bond over. The piano and the cello pair together wonderfully after all.

Damian took learning the cello as any other task he had to learn. Start with the basics. Learn everything you can about the subject and continuously practice proper technique. As expected he was stiff with the instrument in the beginning. His posture rigid and movements precise. This caused a problem though. Damian played every piece methodically and nothing of himself shone through when he played. Yes, it is important to learn to play things properly, but music also calls for emotion and spontaneity. For the musician to look within themselves and add something to the piece not literally but metaphorically.

Damian finally learned this the first time he played together with his father. For him the difference between their playing was quite jarring. Bruce put everything he had, everything he was into the music he played. From that day forward, he learned to look within himself. He learned to _feel_ the music not just play it. He learned to appreciate music more and when he was ready he experimented on his own.

Playing the cello never became something he saw as necessary like weapons training or his studies because really it wasn’t. It was something extra. A hobby. A concept Damian didn’t have experience with. From the day he was born everything he did had to have a purpose but now…

There was no practical reason behind playing the cello and Damian found he was completely ok with that.


End file.
